1. Ford #2
“A girl like you?” I scoff. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She rolls her eyes and scoots a little further into the booth as if wishing it had the ability to swallow her whole. “Come on, Ford, you know what I mean.”
“Someone who’s fucking gorgeous?” I offer.
Honestly, I’m almost offended because, sure, I’ve affected this girl a time or two, but not like this.
Never like this. Not to the point where she’s cowering in the corner and can’t even look at me, let alone be in my presence without turning into a damn puddle while reminiscing about the one time some random stranger gave her attention.
I mean, what the hell’s up with that? Yeah, I’m definitely offended.
My eyes thin as I point out, “And in case I’ve been too subtle in the past, I’m not sure what the big deal is with this guy because I also flirt with you. ”
The same eye roll greets me. “Yeah, but you’re you.”
“I’m me?” A booming laugh escapes me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She graces me with a pointed look that would make any scolding mother proud.
See what I mean? Unpredictable. Gotta admit, the backbone side of June is kind of hot.
“It means you flirt with anything that moves, especially when it gets a rise out of said person,” she tells me.
“So you’re saying I only flirt with you to get a rise out of you?”
The pointed look turns into a full-blown scowl. “Don’t think I can’t see right through you, Ford Harden.”
I clutch at my chest, feigning a dagger to the heart, no matter how genuine it actually feels. “Ouch.”
“Trust me, your ego’s fine.” Her attention drifts to the guy behind me again, and her eyes widen. “Crap,” she breathes out. I start to turn, but she grabs my hand on the table, showcasing her panic. “Don’t look!”
My eyes fall to where she’s touching me.
Her fingertips are cold from her iced coffee.
Or maybe she’s one of those girls who are always chilly.
Neither would surprise me. It’s so soft, though.
Her skin. The pressure. All of it. My gaze flicks back to her face.
She isn’t looking at me. The floor creaks to my right, confirming what I already know.
The cocksucker’s approaching us, and she’s looking at him.
“Oh. Hey, Bryan,” she squeaks.
“Hey, June.”
As if only now realizing we’re touching, June pulls her hand away from mine on the table and cups her iced drink instead.
“I like the outfit,” he adds. It’s like I’m not even sitting right across from her. “But I gotta say, I kind of miss the scrubs.”
The same light blush I’m used to creating spreads across June’s apple cheeks. “So do I. Scrubs are a lot more comfortable than jeans.”
This is what she calls flirting?
I sit up a little straighter, waiting for my introduction as I stare at the girl in front of me.
Any time now, June Bug.
“Do you…come here often?” she continues.
Seriously? What the fuck, June?
I fight the urge to throw my hands up in the air. But really? Nothing? No, how-do-you-do or have-you-met-my-friend or…anything? And here I thought the girl was familiar with a little thing I like to call manners.
“Yeah, The Bean Scene’s on my way to work,” Bryan returns.
Well, it’s official. June is useless. I tear my attention from her to look up at the party crasher with the HH Fire Department shield printed on his shirt. So, I was right. He’s a firefighter.
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
As if he can feel my stare, Bryan finally acknowledges me. “Oh, hey, man. I’m Bryan.” He lifts his chin in greeting while I bite my tongue to keep from mimicking him like I’m in grade school.
Instead, I smile up at the bastard and open my mouth to reply when June cuts me off. “Bryan, this is Ford. Ford Harden. He’s a…friend of a friend.”
Friend of a friend?
Did I just get friend-zoned?
No, I’m not even friend-zoned. I’m one step removed from the friend zone. I’m like the weird uncle at the family parties who no one wants to sit by. Which is…pathetic. Accurate and pathetic. The friend-of-a-friend part, not the weird uncle part. I’m going to be a phenomenal uncle. But I digress.
Besides, it’s not that I care about the title she placed on our relationship. It’s how she cares to disassociate from me as much as possible in front of this guy. Like, what the fuck, June? I thought we were…friends of a friend, apparently.
“We’re actually lovers,” I announce, while refusing to acknowledge the lingering sting from her words or the real reason behind my bullshit response. “She’s just not ready to admit—”
“He’s joking,” June rushes out. Something connects with my shin beneath the table, and my leg jerks back on contact, leaving my shin screaming in protest.
Did she just kick me?
My eyes bulge toward the woman across from me.
The little minx kicked me.
“Right, Ford?” she pushes. Her gaze pleads with mine. “You’re joking?”
Well, would you look at that? Seems the tables have turned, haven’t they, June Bug?
Considering my options, I hold her stare.
I could throw her under the bus. I could call her out for not-so-subtly kicking me beneath the table.
I could lie and say we’ve been fucking each other’s brains out for weeks.
Or, I could resist my usual persona, give in, play nice, and help my friend of a friend get laid, since it’s clear she’s interested in this guy.
Personally, I don’t see the appeal. He’s what?
5’10? Smooth face. Short, dark hair. Friendly smile, I guess.
You know, if you’re into spineless golden retriever vibes, then sure.
Go for it. She’ll be bored within a week.
Or she could fall in love, settle down, have two point five children, and the white picket fence I’m sure she’s dreamt of having for years.
Until she realizes she’s tied down to a man who’s been sleeping with his secretary.
You know, if firefighters have secretaries.
Yeah, I could do a lot of things.
Please.
The word doesn’t belong to me, and it sure as hell isn’t spoken aloud. Nah. Here it is. Another fleeting moment where I can read the girl’s thoughts as if we’re telepathically connected. She wants me to play nice. To play wingman. And hell, who am I to stand between June and her fireman?
Trouble is, I clocked the truth as soon as he walked in. She could do so much better. She could have whoever she wants. Any guy on campus, and her sights are set on this guy?
Another beat passes before I glance up at Bryan again. “Yeah, she called it. I’m the funny one. Nice to meet you, Bryan.”
Bryan’s mouth lifts, not the least bit intimidated, though I try not to let it get to me.
Try being the keyword. “You, too, man.” He turns back to June and squeezes the back of his neck.
“Listen. I was actually planning to stop by the dental office after my shift, but since you’re here, I wanted to, uh, ask for your number. ”
Is this Boy Scout act for real?
“Really?” June whispers. Her voice is light and airy and sounds like it belongs to a princess in a Disney movie.
Bryan nods. “Yeah. I’ve been, uh, I’ve been kicking myself for the last week, wishing I’d done it when I brought my sister in, but…”
His voice trails off. I gotta give the guy credit. If he’s going for the boy-next-door persona, he’s nailing it. Give this guy an Oscar, you know what I mean? Or maybe it isn’t an act. Maybe he’s an actual decent guy. He puts out fires for a living, so he can’t be too bad, can he?
I glance at June again. The way she runs her thumbs along the outside of her iced coffee cup.
The way her mouth curves with the barest hint of a crooked smile, despite trying to hide it.
The way she’s looking up at him like they’re the only two people in the shop.
Like I’m not sitting across from her. Like I don’t even exist at all.
Well, fuck.
Between Jagger and Violet, now June and Mr. Fireman, maybe there’s something in the water. Something about love and intimacy and…
I fight the urge to gag.
“Ford!” Jagger calls, our coffees in hand.
I make a mental note to buy bottled water for the foreseeable future. No need to catch feelings and all that. No, thank you.
Pushing to my feet, I slip out of the booth. “And on that note,” I muse, “I’ll leave you two to it.” As I take a step toward my brother, I call over my shoulder, adding, “Don’t forget to name your first baby after me!”
Then, I walk away.
Shoving aside the image of June’s sweet smile as she peered up at Mr. Fireman, I grab the door handle for Jagger, motioning for him to step through it.
“Thanks,” he says.
“No problem.”